An Authentic, Sometimes Gritty, and Always Hopeful Blog for All Who Live with Severe Physical Pain

Monday, November 14, 2011

My Husband, the Warrior

Warren and I after our hike yesterday.

My
husband and I celebrated our 32nd anniversary this past weekend, as we often
do, by staying at a B&B in the Shenandoah Valley where we could relax and enjoy
some hiking in the peacefulness of the Blue Ridge Mountains we love so
much.

As
has become our tradition, during our hike yesterday, we paused at a particularly
beautiful spot---this year beside a gentle stream at the base of a huge boulder--to
pray, thanking God for another year of marriage--both its joys and its
burdens. As we looked up at the jagged
boulder, Warren remembered a quote attributed to an old woman who lived in the
mountains, “You can’t climb smooth rocks.”

Warren
is the one who has resolutely kept us climbing ours.

Warren
is a man of outstanding physical strength, once even lifting the weight of an
entire car off his father’s hand when they were working on it together, and the
car slipped off the blocks it had been set upon.
What I did not know for many years in our marriage, was how strong is Warren’s
love and commitment. In the beginning of my illness, I was actually offended
when Warren didn’t show much interest in learning about my pain disorder, or
in attending medical appointments with me.
It took me a while to recognize what Warren would provide would be so
much greater.

I
married a man who meant what he said when he committed to stay “for better or
worse”, and “in sickness or in health”.
Warren arrives home after work each day and immediately seeks me
out. He never complains if the house is
a wreck, or if dinner isn’t prepared, no matter how hungry he is. He’ll whip up some scrambled eggs and toast
in a moment, and he’ll clean up the house without ever making me feel
guilty. He has driven the carpools,
attended the meetings, done the Christmas shopping, and held me against the
raging attacks of pain throughout these six years without wavering.

Warren
has never talked about leaving me, although I have talked about leaving him. Not
him, really, but my life as it is. When the day-in, day-out living with
pain becomes too much for me, I fantasize about moving somewhere else…to a
small, simple, quiet place deep in the woods, where I could garden, paint
and write and be far removed from the noise and clutter of my current
life. More than once, in a pain-driven
frenzy, I have thrown together my overnight bag and threatened to leave,
screaming to Warren, “I cannot take it
one more minute! Any place is better than here!”

In
response, my husband, the one who bears the weight of our home and family
cares, instead of throwing all of these things into my face, will tell me he
loves me and could not stand it if I left him.
If even just once, Warren were to say, “Just go then!” I would
probably pick up my bag and march out into the night, pointing my car to God
only knows where… and drive off. It
wouldn’t take me long to realize my pain does not have any kind of geographic
boundary.

Yet,
Warren lets me save face, drawing upon his warrior strength.

I
met a man at a medical conference a few years ago whom I believe summarized what
Warren feels. I asked him how he found
the strength to stay with his wife through many years of physical suffering. He told me that when he first came to realize his wife
would most likely remain ill for the rest of her life, he did
seriously think about leaving. He went to his pastor and told him he didn’t
know if he could give up so much of his own desires in life, for another
person. His pastor listened, and gave
him some scriptures to study, but in the end the man told me, this is what he came to see:

“I came to see that real men stay. So that was the choice I made, and every
single day I make the same choice. There
is no option for second guessing.”

This
is what superhuman strength and love look like.
It is why, when people tell me how “amazed” they are at my faith, or at how
I live with such great pain, I tell them if they really want to be amazed, they
should not look at me, but at my husband.

Warren
only reluctantly allowed me to write this post because he avoids the spotlight,
and he does not believe he is anybody extraordinary. I was only able to convince him to let me do so, because
I believe you will be encouraged by the hope his strength demonstrates. May God continue to strengthen Warren, and
the thousands of others who daily choose to stay.